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But see ! where'er the hailstones drop. The withered leaves all skip and hop,
There's not a breeze — no breath of air — Yet here, and there, and every where
Along the floor, beneath the shade By those embowering hollies d 3 53 A whirl-
The moving accident is not my trade : To freeze the blood I have no ready arts : '
Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.
As I from Hawes to Richmond did repair, It chanced that I saw standing in a dell ...
In April here beneath the scented thorn; He heard the birds their morning carols
sing ; And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born Not half a furlong from that
self-same spring. But now here's neither grass nor pleasant shade ; The sun on ...
... in wondrous perspective displayed, A landscape richer than the happiest skill
Of pencil ever clothed with light and shade ; An intermingled pomp of vale and
hill, Tower, town, and city — and suburban grove, And stately forest where the
Or we'll into the realm of Faery, Among the lovely shades of things ; The shadowy
forms of mountains bare, And streams, and bowers, and ladies fair The shades of
palaces and kings ! Or, if you thirst with hardy zeal Less quiet regions to ...
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the kitten of the filling leaves bp[y willam words worth
My favorite is "Solitary Reaper". When I first read it, I fell in love with the poem. It's like Wordsworth wrote it for me only.
I always feel understood and totally embraced everytime I read this poem and walk away with a full heart.